Bonds of Love
by Tesekian
Summary: Sequel to Bonds of Honour. Estel vanished mysteriously from Rivendell overnight. Now, ten years later, he returns under a different name, disowning his former family. Can the twins and Legolas learn the truth about the betrayer Aragorn seeks to protect?
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: This is a sequel to Bonds of Honour. It's perfectly understandable to read on its own (probably) but if you're going to read the first story, read it now. If you wait until you've read this one, it'll spoil all the cliffhangers.   
  
***  
  
Arwen was noticeable in her absence from dinner that night, but no one commented or found it particularly strange. Lord Elrond said nothing throughout the meal, and even the twins were subdued and somewhat dismal. Yet none of this was cause for remark. Everyone knew what the date was, and what it meant.   
  
It was ten years to the day since Estel had disappeared.   
  
No one knew why he left or where he went. Ten years later and still no one had found any trace of him, or any explanation to his disappearance. One day, he had simply not been there anymore. His bow and some of his clothes were gone, but his sword had been left behind. There had been no note or message. Just an empty room and a worrying family.   
  
His adopted family had been shaken and shocked by his vanishing, but none more so than Arwen. No one would have guessed how close she was to her human brother. For weeks she had stayed in her room, asserting that he would come back to her and crying. It had seemed that she might die of grief, and Estel would not be there to see what he had done.   
  
Even now, after ten long years, the shadows of that day hung over the household. The date brought back memories of the boy's lively spirit, his kindness and his enthusiasm. His laughter had filled the halls of Rivendell as he played with the twins or learned from them how to fight. He had been so strong in mind and body that it seemed that nothing would defeat him. But something had, and no one knew what.   
  
Lord Elrond excused himself from the meal early, leaving before desert was served, but no one blamed him. He missed his human son as much as if Estel had been a child of his own blood. The twins watched him leave without comment before continuing eating their own food, simply because they must, though they hardly tasted it as it passed their lips.   
  
They remembered their brother and the joys they had shared during his childhood, and they missed him still, more keenly with each day that passed as it reinforced the terrible truth, that Estel would not be coming home.   
  
***  
  
It was growing late, and still Legolas had yet to rid himself of his persistent shadow. Whoever was following was extremely skilful, able to keep up no matter what Legolas did to mask his trail. There were times when Legolas thought the tracker lost, but then a small sound alerted him to the continued presence.   
  
At first it had been amusing, but now it was getting annoying. Whoever it was hadn't made any threatening moves yet, but it was unlikely they were there for any good purpose and he had no intention of going to sleep with a potential enemy lurking behind him.   
  
He decided that the only way to learn the truth was to find a way to confront his follower. A fast-flowing stream had cut a path ahead that might proof useful. If he climbed down to the water's edge he would be out of sight of his tracker for a few minutes. Once there, he scuffed a few marks and the edge of the stream and splashed the ground a little, as though he had stopped to drink. He then made a few prints on the soft earth, as though he were heading upstream, before darting back to hide under the shelter of an overhanging rock.   
  
He took his bow from his back and bent it quickly. He placed an arrow on the string ready for when the tracker showed himself. A few minutes passed, and Legolas remained silent and still under the shadow of the rock. There was no noise from above, but eventually the mysterious someone began his descent.   
  
He might have been an elf for all the sound he made climbing down the bank, but Legolas didn't think so, despite the lithe form. The someone reached the stream, and bent to examine the false tracks Legolas had made.   
  
Instead of heading upstream at once, the tracker hesitated, perhaps suspecting that the marks were false. Whatever the reason, Legolas chose that moment to step out from his shelter, the arrow ready to fire should this person prove hostile. The tracker was well armed, with a bow across his back and both a sword and a dagger at his belt.   
  
"Turn round slowly," Legolas ordered, "and make no move for your weapons."   
  
The tracker straightened, and turned slowly, hands outstretched so that Legolas couldn't mistake the gesture. As the face was revealed, Legolas tried not to show his surprise.   
  
"Who are you and why are you following me?" he demanded of the girl standing in front of him.   
  
***  
  
As they made their way to their rooms after dinner, the twins saw their father standing at the doorway of the house, looking out at the courtyard. He was watching the gate, as though hoping that his son would come riding through as he had done so often in the past, grinning and apologising for being late. The twins considered going and talking to him, but it was clear from his stance that Lord Elrond had no desire for company.   
  
Tears rolled down his face in his solitude, as he watched bleakly for his errant son to return. As the sun set, he brushed away the tears. He waited. Waited for the event he had been imagining since Estel had first disappeared. Ten years to the day.   
  
He stood there as hours went by and the night crept across Rivendell. He stood there as the lights were extinguished and the household departed for bed. He stood there as the stars danced their steady dance across the sky above and midnight came ever closer, bringing another day and an end to his hopes.   
  
There was no one else still awake to witness when someone did indeed come riding through the gate. A man dismounted from his horse, looking very little like the youth that had left in secret ten years earlier. There was no cheerful grin at his mouth. Instead, his face was covered by a mask which showed no trace of whatever emotions might be playing beneath. He was tall and strong, a warrior and a survivor. Childhood had long since left him. The clothes he wore, though as rich as those he had once worn in Rivendell, were tired and worn from weather and use.   
  
Elrond barely recognised his son in this stranger, but the face was there nonetheless. The pride of noble lineage showed through the dirty appearance. Elrond held in check the desire to throw his arms around the man and hug him forever, since it was apparent that such actions wouldn't be appreciated. For ten years he had pictured this moment, and now he found himself unable to say all the things he wanted to. He wished he could say just how much he loved this man, but couldn't.   
  
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Lord Elrond said instead, with no other word of greeting.   
  
"After ten years, I could not miss this day," replied the man who had once been Estel.   
  
"Will you be staying?" Lord Elrond asked.   
  
"In one of the guest bedrooms." That answer told more than just the meaning the simple words contained. He was now a guest here, no longer a family. The ten years that had passed had been far longer for the human than for the elves, and he had changed completely into someone almost unrecognisable. Estel was gone and Elrond knew it.   
  
There was no sign of warmth or affection as they spoke these words to each other. No one observing the two of them would have suspected they had once been father and son.   
  
The man turned without an invitation to do so and began to lead his horse to the stables. He did not seem dismayed by this cold greeting or even surprised, though, as the man walked away, the moonlight seemed to glint on moisture in his eyes. He had returned home, only to discover his home was gone.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: What do you think so far? Any theories as to what's going on? There's one thing I'm absolutely certain you won't get, but you can try and prove me wrong if you'd like. 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Just for the record: this is NOT a Legomance. Nor is it a Mary Sue. I had Bonds of Honour accused of being a Mary Sue by someone I don't think had even bothered reading the first chapter and I'd like to make everyone aware that this won't be. I don't write Mary Sues.   
  
***  
  
"It seems elves have good hearing," said the girl, "but not good memories." She was smiling, completely unconcerned that a Mirkwood archer was aiming for her heart. Either she was extremely stupid, she was planning something or she had reason to believe that Legolas wouldn't fire. The girl was perhaps fifteen, dark hair pulled back from her face and her clothing practical shades of brown that would aid concealment in the wilds. There was something familiar about her.   
  
Legolas thought of her comment, and his memory quickly sorted through the faces of the few humans he had met in recent years. There was only one person this girl could be, and the face and hair fit well enough.   
  
"Eltha?"   
  
"Well met, Prince Legolas," the girl acknowledged with a nod. Legolas lowered his bow, but did not return the arrow to the quiver. He would be ready to fire again in less than a second if necessary. He had met the girl only briefly, and though he had thought her an innocent at the time, there was no way for him to be sure she hadn't changed and fallen to wickedness as her kind were prone to do so. She wasn't of the Dunedain, and so didn't have their strength of spirit to resist temptation.   
  
"Why were you following me?" Legolas asked again.   
  
"Practise," Eltha grinned.   
  
"Practise at what?"   
  
"Tracking, of course. You're very difficult to track, you realise?"   
  
"That was the intention," a smile was forming on Legolas' lips as well. The girl was infectious.   
  
"Are you going to put that away?" Eltha asked, nodding to the bow and arrow Legolas was still holding. He decided that Eltha was no threat, and put the arrow away. He swung the quiver from his back, and set it down along with his bow. The bow was the one Aragorn had given him as an apology in Rohan, some four years earlier.   
  
He decided that this was as good a place as any to make camp for the night. It had the necessary shelter and water, and the setting sun would make search for a better site difficult.   
  
"So," Legolas asked, feeling that he ought to attempt conversation, "how are you?"  
  
"I'm very well. Aragorn's been teaching me tracking and hunting and fighting, that kind of thing. He's going to make me a Ranger." There was pride in her voice, and no wonder. Legolas had seen enough of Aragorn's Rangers to know that they were as skilled as any human could ever hope to be.   
  
Legolas also noticed that Eltha had dropped the honorific 'Lord' from Aragorn's name. She now spoke of him as one would a friend. How strange, given that, when they had first met, she had been almost as hesitant as Legolas about trusting Aragorn.   
  
"Where is Aragorn?" Legolas asked. He was sitting down now, perched on a rock by the stream. Eltha sat too, lowering her pack to the ground.  
  
She shrugged. "Oh, somewhere." Legolas might have found her vague answer suspicious, if he hadn't seen for himself just how unpredictable Aragorn could be in his movements.   
  
"He said he had an appointment to keep," Eltha went on, "and just left. He told me he'd be back in a few days. So I decided to get some tracking practice in while he's. . . wherever he is."   
  
"You're very good," Legolas, "most humans wouldn't know you where there. Some elves wouldn't have noticed you either."   
  
"Most and some isn't enough. I need to be good enough so that even Aragorn wouldn't know I was following him."   
  
"I've a feeling that getting past Aragorn will be a lot harder than sneaking past Damial." Eltha grinned at the memory.   
  
"Eleven years old and I got past a Ranger. Admittedly only a partly trained Ranger, but still. . ." That had been a long time ago, a time when Eltha's freedom had just been bought for her by Aragorn, and Legolas was a prisoner in the humans' camp. The girl had changed considerably. Not that Legolas had really known her that well to begin with.   
  
***  
  
The twins went outside after their breakfast. Lord Elrond hadn't been present, but breakfast was the meal they kept least strictly. Their father had probably taken something in his study while he made an early start with his duties and paperwork. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the elf lord to have a lot to do and start early.   
  
The twins walked out towards the pastures, surprised to see an unfamiliar horse. The hadn't heard about any visitors due to arrive. An equally unfamiliar figure was rubbing the horse down. The stranger was clearly a man by his clothing and stance, and a spark of something thought long gone stirred in the twins' hearts: hope.   
  
"Hello," Elladan called out, trying to keep his excitement down, in case his hope was shattered once more as it had been so often over the past ten years. The twins vaulted the pasture's fence and made their way across the grass.   
  
The man who turned to face them was both a complete stranger and a beloved family member. There was no mistaking the face, but his expression was so different from that belonging to the little brother they loved.   
  
"Estel," both the twins whispered together.   
  
"I am not Estel," the man said, turning back to his horse, but his voice confirmed it. The accents were those of Estel Elrondion.   
  
"You can't hide from us, brother," Elrohir said. He moved to stand by Estel, laying a hand on his arm. Estel tensed beneath the gentle grip, as though the touch hurt him somehow.   
  
"Let go," Estel said, refusing to meet Elrohir's eyes, now filled with puzzlement and confusion. When Elrohir failed to comply, Estel shook off the hand.   
  
"It's us, Estel," Elrohir went on, "it's your brothers."   
  
"Don't call me that." Each word was separate and crisp, something between a request and an order. The twins couldn't read the emotion in the voice, which seemed hollow and empty. Estel's hand rested on his horse's neck, but his eyes were closed, as though he were trying to maintain a resolve.   
  
"It's your name," Elladan told him. Now the twins were on either side of Estel, but he failed to look at either one of them.   
  
"I'm not Estel any more," Estel said, "your little brother is dead." He turned suddenly and began walking to the gate. The twins followed swiftly. This time it was Elladan who reached out and grabbed hold of Estel's arm.   
  
Estel turned on them, fierce anger burning in his eyes. "Don't touch me!" He glared at the twins, violently yanking his arm from Elladan's grasp. The twins were shocked beyond belief at the foreign emotion in Estel's face. Then the anger was gone, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask that was even more disturbing. Estel had always been quick to laugh, ready to show his affection. For some reason, he'd shut himself away, closed himself off from the world. Why? Fear of being hurt if he allowed himself to care?   
  
"What's wrong?" Elladan asked gently.   
  
"Nothing that concerns you!" Estel snapped.   
  
"Of course it concerns us. We're family."   
  
"We're not family," Estel denied, "we never were family." He walked away again. This time the twins let him go. They stood watching after him, so close that they were almost touching. Each drew some comfort from the presence of the other, some knowledge that they were not alone in this rejection. The same question burned in both their minds. Why? Why would Estel deny their relationship? Why would he deny the family that had raised him from childhood?   
  
***  
  
Aragorn hurried back to the main house. He didn't slow even when he realised his bro. . . the twins weren't following him. He walked as quickly as he could without actually running, and arrived soon at the guest room he had been given. If it had taken any longer he might not have been able to hold onto his self-control. Not that his hold had been very great to begin with. He shouldn't have lashed out at the twins like that. They weren't to blame for what had happened, they weren't the ones he was angry with. They were just a convenient target for his venomous words.   
  
It wasn't until he was safely shut inside and leaning against the locked door that he allowed himself to relax. That he allowed the tears to come. He should never have come back here. It had been a mistake, a huge mistake.   
  
This place was exactly the same as when he'd left. Nothing had changed. The people, the places, the sights, the sounds. It was all as he remembered it. As unchanging as eternity. The twins looked just the same. They never looked any older, never any different. And they looked to him, expecting him to have remained the same as they had. Expecting him to have returned their little Estel.   
  
But he'd seen too much. Too much had happened in his life for him to have remained the same. He'd lost his innocence somewhere along the road, left his naivety behind like unwanted baggage, and abandoned his childhood when he left his home. He was not the same person he had been when he lived here. He had suffered too much, his trust shattered. Estel was dead. He had died along with that little boy's hopes for the future. Along with the part of him that knew how to trust.   
  
He was Aragorn now, Ranger of the North and Lord of the Dunedain. He was the survivor events had forged. He had been scorched by betrayal and beaten by the wilderness into something sharp and cold and strong. Yet beneath the strength was a fragile being that still ached for love and a family that was never his.   
  
He sank down, still leaning against the wooden door. He sat on the floor, his knees tucked up against his body and his arms wrapped around his legs. His tears flowed freely now, for all the tears he had kept locked away in the wild. He had been strong and controlled for too long. This sight of a place and a people which meant so much to him was enough to break down his barriers. He had missed Rivendell, more than he had believed possible, but somehow it hurt more to be back than it had done to be away.   
  
The twins didn't understand yet, but they would come to understand as Aragorn had done. This place was not his home. These people were not his family. They never had been, no matter how they had deceived themselves and others. Aragorn saw that now. The treachery of ten years ago had opened his eyes to the truth.   
  
But still he had returned. Despite what his mind understood, some part of him, buried deep within his spirit, had yearned for the childhood he remembered, had dreamed of the loved ones left behind. That part of him had imagined coming home and being accepted, had imagined being Estel again, the child defended by the elves of Rivendell. But there were some things they could not defend him from, though they might try. They could not defend him from the knowledge that now filled him, a secret that could never be shared.   
  
His bro. . . the twins would be hurt that he would not tell them. He would never be able to explain why he had left. He had been betrayed and it had destroyed Estel. To reveal the truth would destroy everyone here as well. Aragorn still loved them too much for that. If protecting them meant staying apart, he would do so. He would shield himself from them and their love, and not let his emotions drive him to words which would bring nothing but hurt. No one could ever know the truth. They must never find out what had driven him away.   
  
He should not have come back.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: Some of you guessed that it was Eltha following Legolas: well guessed. As for what's going on, that's a case of wait and see.   
  
I'm on school holidays now, which means more time to write, but a lot of my time will be required for revision, so I won't be working any updating miracles. Stupid A-levels. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Legolas first woke, he didn't see Eltha. Then he noticed the fire, recently lit, and heard the footsteps. Eltha appeared, a couple of dead birds in her hand. She grinned at Legolas, then sat down to the messy task of skinning them. Legolas always plucked birds if he killed them, but after watching Eltha's, relatively, easy job of removing feathers he decided he might try skinning in the future. Her sharp knife sliced into the neck, and then slipped down, cutting easily through the bird's skin. A lot less messy than plucking.   
  
Legolas grabbed a pot from his pack and filled it with water. Soon the two birds were stewing over the small blaze.   
  
"Having company certainly makes breakfast easier," Legolas said.   
  
"You didn't have to shoot the things," Eltha responded, "Are birds in Rivendell naturally smarter than the rest of Middle Earth?"   
  
"I doubt it," Legolas answered, "and we're not quite in Rivendell. We have to cross the Bruinin first."   
  
"I'm not actually planning on going to Rivendell," Eltha said, "I'm supposed to be waiting for Aragorn."   
  
"You could wait in Rivendell. You're nearby, so you might as well visit."   
  
"I'd better not. I don't actually know anyone there. It's the one place Aragorn hasn't taken me to in my training."   
  
"Except Mirkwood."   
  
"Oh, he did, but only to the outskirts. Nasty spiders."   
  
"As good a way of describing them as any," Legolas laughed. They talked lightly while the birds stewed, Legolas finding many of Eltha's tales interesting. When he next saw Aragorn, he had a lot of teasing material to try out.   
  
He would set off again as soon as he'd eaten. It had been a long journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell, and he wasn't going to delay too much just outside the boarder.   
  
"What will you do," Legolas asked, "if you're not going to visit Rivendell?"   
  
"I'll probably find some other victim to track," Eltha grinned at him, causing Legolas to smile at her choice of words.   
  
***  
  
Aragorn had managed to regain his composure and wash away all traces of the tears by the time the knock came on the door. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He could guess who would be waiting out there, and he needed to be as steady as possible. This was the meeting he had been both looking forward to and dreading. He took another deep breath before opening the door.   
  
"Estel? Oh Estel, it is you!" Aragorn found himself entwined in an embrace tight enough to suffocate him. Aragorn reached behind him to unclasp Arwen's arms and stepped clear of the hug. He turned away, closing the door behind her. He was grateful even for this brief moment in which he didn't have to look her in the eyes. What she had suffered was unforgivable.   
  
"I knew you would come back to me," Arwen said, "even over ten years I never gave up hope. I will never give up my Hope."   
  
Aragorn had to look at her, and it took all those years practice to maintain his calm façade and stop himself breaking down in her arms.   
  
"I came back for a visit, Arwen," he said quietly, "I did not come back to you." If he spoke any louder, she might have detected the tremor of emotion behind his words and Aragorn couldn't allow that to happen. Only her ignorance of the truth would keep her alive.   
  
"But you have come back, Estel," Arwen's voice was confused, "You promised you would never leave me and you haven't." Her smile was so innocent, so naïve. She really believed that their love would be enough. She reached out to grasp Aragorn's hands, holding them as they used to, a lifetime ago. But Aragorn pulled away from her touch.   
  
"I did leave you," Aragorn said, with more force than he intended, "and I am not the same person I was ten years ago. Ten years ago I was a boy, lost in dreams and childhood foolishness. Now I have grown enough to see the truth."   
  
"What truth?"   
  
Aragorn turned away, looking through the window at what had once been his home. He couldn't bear to face her as he said this, in case she read the lie in his eyes.   
  
"The truth," he said slowly, "that we cannot be together."   
  
"But you promised to love me forever," Arwen said, with enough pain in her voice that it almost broke through Aragorn's defences. He took another breath, knowing that this had to come out right or everything would be lost. Arwen seemed to take that pause as invitation to keep talking.   
  
"I was carrying our child, Estel. A child conceived in love."   
  
Aragorn turned then, praying that she would believe him. "And where is that child?" he asked, "The child was never born because he was not meant to be. It was not love that conceived that child, but lust and foolish dreams."   
  
"What are you saying?" Arwen asked, her hands covering her stomach and the memory of that child. Aragorn stared into her pleading eyes, and knew that she had to believe this. It was enough that her child had been murdered, without her joining the child in death.   
  
"I do not love you, Arwen," Aragorn said, "I was wrong to think I did." Arwen stared at him for an eternity, as though willing him to take back his words. Her eyes slowly filled with moisture as no denial seemed forthcoming.   
  
Suddenly, she turned and fled from the room weeping. The door slammed shut behind her, and Aragorn's defences crumbled. He sobbed uncontrollably. He knew he had done what he must, done the only thing he could do to keep Arwen alive, but that would not be enough to forgive himself.   
  
Or to forgive the one who had caused all this.   
  
***  
  
Legolas arrived at the main house of Rivendell, and knew that something was going on. How he knew that, he couldn't have explained even to himself. It might have been the way the people were walking more swiftly than usual, muttering as though they had fascinating gossip to share.   
  
The twins quickly emerged from the house to greet Legolas, but their eyes were strangely red. If Legolas hadn't known them better, he might have though they'd been crying. They hugged Legolas gladly, as they always did, but there was tension in their stance.   
  
"What's wrong?" Legolas asked, before the twins could utter a single word of greeting. "What has happened?"  
  
"If we knew that, things would be a lot better," Elladan said cryptically. Legolas was about to ask him to explain, when another figure emerged from the house. This one was somewhat unexpected, but just as welcome a sight.   
  
"Aragorn!" Legolas left the twins to embrace the young man in greeting. "I am pleased to see you, melonin."   
  
"You also," Aragorn replied.   
  
"You know Estel?" Elrohir asked Legolas.   
  
"Estel?" Legolas asked, looking between the twins and Aragorn. "This is Aragorn." Legolas had heard rumours about Elrond's adopted son, Estel, but he'd never thought to link that human child with the man who had rescued him from slavery.   
  
"I stopped being Estel ten years ago," Aragorn said, confusing Legolas still further. His tone, so friendly when greeting Legolas, had become cold and unfriendly, as though the twins were enemies. Clearly the change did not pass the twins unnoticed either.   
  
"What happened, Es.. . Aragorn? Why do you hate us?"   
  
"I don't hate you," Aragorn answered, but his cold tone and expressionless face belied his words.   
  
"Then why won't you tell us?"   
  
"Because no one can know. No one can ever know." He walked away, striding back into the house.   
  
"He returned last night," Elladan told Legolas, "ten years exactly since he vanished, and he won't tell anyone his reasoning, either for going or returning."   
  
Legolas thought for a moment before speaking. "He told me once that he was betrayed," he said, "and that the betrayal cost him his family. But he refused to explain the circumstances or the identity of the betrayer."   
  
"You think he was taken from Rivendell by force?"   
  
"By force," Legolas agreed, "and by someone he thought he could trust." But that didn't explain why he failed to return. Or why he had told Legolas he had never been to Rivendell. Too many questions were unanswered, and Legolas was more determined than ever before to discover the truth about Aragorn's past.   
  
***  
  
Author's note: The thing about birds is true. It's MUCH easier to skin a bird than pluck the feathers out, and much kinder on the hands as well.   
  
Please keep your reviews coming, I love them. Blame any delays on updating on the evilness that goes by the name Revision. My holiday is being eroded from within by maths. 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Can I think of a good excuse for the appalling lack of updates? Hmm. A-levels? Evil teachers setting homework deadlines in the holidays? I feel as though I spent most of the Easter holiday doing mechanics homework, yet somehow I only managed about half of the work we were set. Are they good enough excuses?   
  
At least we've finished the syllabus in all subjects except chemistry, so everything from now until the exams is revision. I do think it's unfair though that we have our first exam before exam leave starts. Admittedly, it's only for the eight of us insane enough to do further maths, but it's still evil.   
  
Anyway, enough of the excuses, on with the story.   
  
***  
  
The twins led Legolas into the house and towards the guest bedrooms, explaining as they went everything that Aragorn had said since his return. Legolas listened in silence, relating everything to what he already knew of the man. From Aragorn's story, he had assumed that the traitor had killed Aragorn's family, but now that Legolas went over the memories, he could only think of one person whom Aragorn stated had been murdered: Aragorn's unborn child. All he had said of the others was that they had been taken from him.   
  
What if that was the other way around? What if he had been taken from them? But then, why not say it that way? Questions span round in Legolas' mind until he was almost dizzy from them, and still he grew no closer to finding the answers. The twins were almost adding to the confusion in their descriptions of Aragorn's behaviour.   
  
Their journey halted when they heard the unmistakable sound of crying. The twins glanced at each other, concern passing between them, as they went to the door from which the sounds were emanating.   
  
"Arwen?" Elladan asked, knocking. "Arwen, are you alright?" When there was no answer but the continued sobs, the twins pushed open the door. The room was much like either of the twins', light and airy, elegantly furnished. Wide windows let sunlight and outdoor scents into the room. But the twins didn't notice these things. They noticed the figure crying.   
  
Arwen was lying on her bed, her face buried in the pillows, her shoulders shaking violently as the tears burst from her.   
  
The twins went to her instantly, sitting on her bedside and laying comforting arms over her. Legolas hesitated in the doorway. He barely knew Arwen and didn't feel right about intruding on something that must be deeply personal. He had just decided to make his way to the guest rooms on his own, when Arwen spoke.   
  
"He promised to love me forever," she sobbed, "but he doesn't. He doesn't love me anymore." Her words dissolved into incoherence behind her tears, but Legolas had heard enough. Perhaps things were beginning to slip into place.   
  
He slipped away, lost in his thoughts. Aragorn had spoken of his fiancée, the one who had been taken from him. Legolas wondered now if she had been taken by threat rather than force. If whoever betrayed Aragorn had murdered an innocent child, why should they hesitate to kill Arwen? Legolas knew for certain that Aragorn still loved the one he had been betrothed to. If that was indeed Arwen, then Aragorn was lying to her, and he would need a very good reason to do that. Aragorn was one who respected the truth, so much so that Legolas couldn't recall him ever lying.   
  
Legolas reached the guest bedrooms, and saw, through a partly open door, a figure standing at the window of one of them. He recognised Aragorn even from behind, and could tell from the man's posture that he wasn't happy. Without waiting for an invitation, Legolas entered.   
  
"Aragorn?" he asked quietly. Aragorn didn't even turn round. Legolas wondered for a few moments if Aragorn was even aware of Legolas' presence. He seemed so distant, as though the few feet between them were a vast, impassable desert.   
  
"I should never have come back, Legolas," Aragorn said at last.   
  
"This was your home once." Legolas couldn't think of anything better to say.   
  
"In another lifetime. I am not who I was then."   
  
"But you still love the people you loved then."   
  
There was a moment's silence. Aragorn's head was bowed, his face completely hidden from Legolas. But the pain in Aragorn's voice when he finally spoke was almost tangible.   
  
"Yes," he said, "I love them still."   
  
"Arwen is crying in her room because you told her you do not. Why would you do that, Aragorn? I have seen myself how deep your love for her is." Legolas took the chance that he was right, and Arwen really was Aragorn's lost fiancée.   
  
Aragorn spun round, a look of sheer desperation clear on his face, his eyes burned into Legolas as he declared, "You must never tell her!" Legolas had only seen such power and emotion in Aragorn once before, when Aragorn was speaking of the one who had betrayed him. This time, however, it was not rage that broke through the mask Aragorn often wore, but pain and fear.   
  
He was afraid for Arwen.   
  
"I will not tell her," Legolas answered slowly, his calm the very opposite of Aragorn's tumultuous emotions, "because you ask it of me. But I do not know if you are right. I think you should tell something. If she is in danger, her family can protect her."   
  
"Her family." Aragorn gave a bitter laugh. "Her family did nothing to protect the child she bore." Legolas' suspicions were confirmed, it was Arwen whom Aragorn had wished to marry, Arwen's child murdered by the mysterious traitor.   
  
"Perhaps they would be able to help if you would only say who it is that betrayed you," Legolas suggested.   
  
"No! I cannot tell anyone that! Not you! Not my family!" Legolas noted the slip Aragorn had made, but decided that this was not the time to comment on it. Aragorn turned away then, looking back out through the window. He leaned heavily on the windowsill, as though it could provide the support he needed through this trial.   
  
"Leave me be, Legolas, I need to be alone for a while."   
  
"I think you have been alone too long," Legolas told him. He rested a hand momentarily on Aragorn's shoulder, and then left the room. He wandered outside for a while, considering what he had heard, what Aragorn had said, and what he had failed to say. Legolas strode beneath the trees of Rivendell, as though they could offer him wisdom to decide how to act. He had known Aragorn for four years, and could not just stand by while he suffered.   
  
Legolas turned back to the main house, the starting fragments of a plan in his mind. There was little he could do, but he would not do nothing. He went to the only place he could think of to go. Aragorn had told him he could never tell Arwen, but he had said nothing about telling Arwen's family.   
  
He knocked on the door of Lord Elrond's study, and immediately got an invitation to enter. Lord Elrond was seated behind his desk, which was spread with papers and books, but it seemed to Legolas that he had not been working very hard. Lord Elrond's eyes were touched with the same redness that had been in his children's.   
  
"My lord, may I speak with you about Aragorn?" Legolas asked. Lord Elrond gestured to the seat across from him. Legolas sat, wondering for a moment where to begin. His musings in the garden hadn't made him any more decisive about this.   
  
"Aragorn has told me very little about his past," Legolas said at last, "but I have guessed more both from what he has said, and what he has failed to say. He told me he was betrayed, but refuses to name the traitor. I know he loves Arwen, yet he told her he did not. I think he fears for her safety."   
  
Legolas hesitated a moment, thinking of what Aragorn had said about his fiancée, and wondering what it would be right to tell Arwen's father. It was possible, from what Aragorn had said, that Lord Elrond had been in ignorance of their relationship.   
  
"Arwen was child, I think," Legolas said, not saying that the child was Aragorn's, "but it was not common knowledge. That child was killed by the one who betrayed Aragorn, and I believe Aragorn fears that the traitor might kill Arwen."   
  
Legolas recounted everything Aragorn had told him, and Lord Elrond listened without saying a word. When the tale was over, Lord Elrond was staring at his desk, not really seeing it. Legolas saw the grief in the elf lord's eyes, and the understanding. Legolas hoped his actions would help, since he couldn't bear to be the cause of such sadness if it did not result in some good.   
  
"Did he tell you why he will not name the one who betrayed him?" Lord Elrond asked at last.   
  
"No, my lord," Legolas replied, "but he refuses to speak it even to his own people, the Dunedain. I asked Mithrandir about Aragorn's past, but Mithrandir was, if anything, more reluctant than Aragorn to speak of it." Lord Elrond nodded, but fell silent again.  
  
"Thank you, Legolas," he said at last, speaking quietly and carefully, as though every word was a strain. "Will you let me think on this?"   
  
"Yes, Lord Elrond." Legolas rose and left the room. A tension he had barely been aware of feeling was suddenly released as he stepped out of the door. This household was filled with sadness, and Legolas was stirred with more pity and concern than he could ever remember feeling. Legolas walked away, back to the guestrooms, and Lord Elrond remained in his study.   
  
Lord Elrond sat there, turning Legolas' words over in his mind, replaying them in every way possible. At last, he summoned a servant and asked him to relay a message to Aragorn. Minutes passed, and Elrond struggled to keep the tears from his eyes as what Legolas had said spoke again its terrible message.   
  
"You asked to see me." Aragorn was standing in the doorway. His face was expressionless, cold. Lord Elrond could only imagine the hurt Aragorn was feeling, a hurt that was now being echoed in Elrond's heart. Aragorn's beliefs, relayed through Legolas, were a bitter wound in Elrond's chest. They were each a mirror for the other's hurt, the other's betrayal.   
  
"I spoke with Legolas earlier," Elrond said, "he told me what you told him." For a moment there was a flicker of worry on Aragorn's face, but the mask was strong and did not crumble.   
  
"And?" Aragorn asked. He didn't let on what might be happening in his mind. He stepped completely into the room, standing before the desk. He was proud and regal, holding himself as the King of Men. The years of suffering had made him strong. The betrayal he believed he had endured had forged him in a white-hot fire, and now his edge was keen, his spirit strong.   
  
"Do you really believe so little of me?" Elrond asked. His voice sounded pained even to his own ears, but he couldn't stop that. He had understood that Aragorn had been angry, and with good reason, but he never guessed Aragorn might assume this.   
  
"I don't understand," Aragorn said, but Elrond thought that perhaps he did. He was skirting round the truth because the truth was too painful for either of them.   
  
"Do you really believe me a murderer?" Elrond asked. The word was out, the question laced with hurt. Betrayal cut both ways. Elrond always thought his foster son would trust him. Perhaps it was he himself that had destroyed that trust, when he sent Estel away from the only place he knew as home.   
  
The silence was almost a physical force, wrapping around them, hemming them in. Time could not heal all wounds. Sometimes, time could make them worse, as the sufferer remembered assumed injustices. Treasons that never happened.   
  
"The child Arwen carried had a right to live." Aragorn's voice was cold, as though his heart was empty. Perhaps it was. Perhaps Elrond himself had emptied it, and now Elrond understood so much better the rage Aragorn felt. Aragorn thought him guilty of a treachery far worse than any he had committed.   
  
"I never murdered your child, Estel."   
  
***  
  
Author's note: I know some of you guessed about Elrond being the traitor, but did you guess this? I seriously hope not, but, if you did, there's another surprise I'm hoping you won't guess. 


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: As a true hobbit, I thought I'd give you a present for my birthday. So here it is: the next chapter. Don't expect another one any time soon, since the first of my exams is on Monday and they carry on until July.   
  
Aragorn stared at Elrond. The words seemed to be echoing around in his head, and he wasn't sure if he had truly heard them. The walls of anger he had built up because of this simple believe were being shattered by that simple statement. Could it be true? Could he have been wrongly believing that Lord Elrond was his son's murderer for ten years?   
  
"But. . ." Aragorn began, his thoughts a jumble in his mind, "But you said. . ."   
  
"I told you the child would never be born. I Saw this. I never meant for you to take it as a threat, to think. . . to think that I could do such a thing." Aragorn heard the sorrow in Elrond's voice, heard the pain brought on by the whole situation. For the first time, Aragorn realised that all that had happened had hurt Elrond too, perhaps as much as it had hurt Aragorn.   
  
For ten years, Aragorn had convinced himself that the one he called a father had betrayed him, murdering his unborn child and casting him aside. Aragorn had told Legolas once, years before, that he could forgive the one who betrayed him for everything he had done, except for one thing. The only thing Aragorn could never forgive was his son's death, and now it seemed that this was never even Elrond's doing.   
  
The truths that had made Aragorn strong and threatened to break him at the same time, throughout his exile were now destroyed, and Aragorn couldn't find a voice to say what this was doing to him, inside him.   
  
"I knew that Arwen would bind herself to you publicly and forsake her immortality, because of the child. She would surrender her life for the sake of a child who would never even be born. I could not bear it if I were to lose her." Tears were flowing softly down Elrond's cheeks, mirrored by those on Aragorn's face.   
  
"You really thought that I could kill my own grandchild? My own daughters flesh and blood?" Elrond asked, pain tangible behind his words.   
  
"That was why it hurt so much," Aragorn answered, his words soft and barely audible,   
  
"I trusted you completely and it seemed you had destroyed a piece of myself in that child. How could I do anything but hate you? A hate made far worse by the fact that I still loved you."   
  
"I am sorry, Estel," Elrond said, and Aragorn didn't protest the name, "I'm sorry I ever led you to believe as you did."   
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't trust you enough to know you would never act in such a way."   
  
"I acted in ways I am not proud of. I took you into my home and tried to raise you as a son. But in the end, I pushed you aside in favour of my daughter. My actions were born out of love of Arwen, but they were unforgivable towards you."   
  
"But I did forgive them," Aragorn replied, "I forgave you were disowning me, for sending me away, for banning me any contact with Arwen or the twins. I forgave you for everything a long time ago, except for my child. And now you tell me you had no hand in that. I love Arwen. I love her so deeply and completely that I would rather never set eyes on her again, than see her die because of me. I left Rivendell that night without protest because I, like you, want Arwen to live. If she must think that I do not love her, then so be it. I will not cause her death."   
  
Elrond looked at him for a long time, an expression of admiration on his face. Aragorn couldn't guess what was happening in the mind behind those eyes, but the sight of such an expression sent a surge of joy through his heart. The first he had felt in a long time.   
  
"You are wiser than I had guessed," Elrond said at last, "and stronger. I had not realised until this moment just how true your love for Arwen is."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Neither of them had a chance to say anything more, because, after a knock that was a gesture rather than any true request for permission, a guard opened the door and entered the study. He was rather out of breath, looking as though he had just run a considerable distance. Both Aragorn and Elrond were on their feet, waiting for the guard to explain his presence.   
  
"My lord," he gasped, "you must come. . . a girl. . . attacked."   
  
A girl? That word generally implied a human, and humans rarely came to Imladris. Aragorn's mind jumped to the only conclusion it could. He'd left Eltha alone in the wilds, and now something had happened to her.   
  
He almost knocked the guard over in his haste to get out of the study. He could hear Elrond running behind him, but Aragorn was in more of a position to forget dignity for haste. As he reached the staircase, Aragorn leapt down several steps at a time, and even vaulted the banisters near the bottom instead of running round them.   
  
He paused for a barest moment at the door, looking into the courtyard. He could only glimpse the figure lying on the paved ground, surrounded by a crowd of curious elves, but that glimpse was enough to tell him who it was that lay there. Dark hair was matted with blood, and black arrows were protruding from clothes made in shades of Ranger-brown.   
  
Aragorn shoved his way through the crowd with no respect for those he pushed roughly aside. He was kneeling at Eltha's side, relieved beyond measure to see she was still breathing. All his thoughts had been on coming here, seeing Arwen and the others again. He hadn't even considered that he might be leaving Eltha in danger.   
  
The teenager, almost a child, opened her eyes and looked up into the concerned pair looking down at her. Aragorn glanced over the rest of her body, seeing the two orc arrows, one in her chest and one in her leg, and a deep gash up her sword arm that had clearly been made by a blade, and not a very clean one at that.   
  
"I'm sorry," Eltha managed to say, falling back into her native tongue. Clearly the pain was too much for her to speak in her secondary language of Westron.   
  
"I'm the one who should be sorry," Aragorn answered, using her own language.   
  
"I had to come," Eltha continued, "had to warn. . ." Her voice failed, and she began a painful cough that caused spasms of pain to flow through her body and turned her lips red with her own blood. Aragorn waited until she could speak again. He knew that she would insist on delivering the warning, and he would not be able to persuade her to submit to healing until she did.   
  
"Orcs," Eltha said at last, "So many. . . I couldn't fight. . . Left me for dead."   
  
"It's alright," Aragorn said, "you're safe now. We'll take care of the orcs." She smiled weakly, and then simply lost consciousness. Aragorn was amazed that she had managed to stay awake for so long as it was.   
  
Aragorn stood aside, letting his father in to check her wounds and give orders to the healers. Aragorn relayed the message Eltha had delivered, translating it so that Elrond knew the danger Imladris was in.   
  
"She was almost crawling the last part of the journey," someone said, "how she managed to get this far with thos wounds is beyond me."   
  
"Did she say how many orcs there were?" Elrond asked, standing back to let a pair of healers move Eltha gently onto a stretcher.   
  
Aragorn shook his head. "She only said that there were too many to fight. She seemed to think that Rivendell was in danger from them."   
  
"We'll send out scouts to see where the orcs are, and in what numbers." Elrond gave a couple of brief orders, then headed inside after Eltha. Aragorn felt fear twisting his gut. Eltha was his student, his responsibility. He'd been so caught up in his own, selfish plans that he'd just disregarded her safety. If she were to die from her injuries, it would be as much his fault as if he had dealt them himself.   
  
Legolas and the twins had come out of the house. Aragorn passed them as he made to follow Elrond to the healing wing.   
  
"Eltha?" Legolas asked. Aragorn nodded, but didn't slow to speak to them.   
  
"Who's Eltha?" he heard one of the twins ask.   
  
"Aragorn's student," Legolas answered, "and his friend." Aragorn was so intent on reaching Eltha and doing anything he could to aid Elrond in healing her, that he didn't notice a face staring down intently from one of the windows.   
  
Arwen watched through the haze of tears at Aragorn's distress. He was afraid that this human girl was hurt, though he hadn't cared that Arwen, the one he was betrothed to, had been hurt bitterly by his own actions.   
  
As she stood, the green fire of jealousy burned brightly inside her, feeding the anger that was already growing there. 


	6. Chapter 6

The twins were to lead a party of elven hunters out to find the orcs and destroy them before Rivendell was endangered further. Aragorn insisted on coming with them. His own skills as a healer were nothing like as good as Elrond's, and he wanted Eltha to have the best treatment available. It was hardly surprising that Legolas had offered to come.   
  
"I can't have you enjoying all the excitement," he said. Aragorn returned the smile weakly, but it was clear he was still worried about Eltha. Humans were such frail creatures, Elrohir thought, watching his former brother ride beside him.   
  
There were fifty in the group, not including the four at its head, all hardened warriors. The elves rode swiftly, following the tracks Eltha had left. She had obviously been too weak to attempt at disguising her tracks. Even if she had, she would have had a difficult job hiding the blood that so frequently splattered the ground. The amount that had been spilled, Elrohir was amazed that she had had any left in her body when she arrived at Rivendell. Even in the darkness, with only a thin moon for light, they were able to see where they must go easily enough.   
  
It wasn't long before they heard the orcs, moving off to their right. They were in a wooded area and the undergrowth hid any other creatures. Even on horseback at such speed, elves were extremely quiet, and it might be that the orcs had no knowledge of their presence yet.   
  
Elladan stilled the movement of the party with a gesture, indicating that two elves should go and spy out what was happening. The two in question swiftly leapt from their horses into the branches, moving through trees. They returned just as quickly and told the twins in low voices that perhaps a hundred orcs were moving through the woods towards the main dwellings at great speed.   
  
"Hoping to reach the Last Homely House while it's still dark, no doubt," Elrohir commented. Elladan nodded his agreement, then began signalling for the others to spread out. The numbers might not sound very comforting, but neither of the twins doubted that the elves would be able to hold their own against a company of orcs twice their size.   
  
If the elves spread out, they would be able to come at the orcs from all directions, before they could prepare themselves for the attack. The archers would do what they could first, then they would all ride into the battle. The horses would allow for much greater speed than the orcs could manage, allowing any injured to escape. The orcs would, hopefully, be surrounded and easy to eliminate.   
  
The instructions were quickly spread through the company of hunters by gestures, since they didn't want to risk voices and alerting the orcs to what was about to happen. Legolas had his bow off his back and strung in a heartbeat, making Elrohir glad that their was a Mirkwood archer in the group. He had never seen Legolas in combat, but had seen him training often enough to know his formidable skill.   
  
At a nod from Elladan, they began moving, riding swiftly and skilfully through the trees. Elrohir's own bow was ready and he began firing the instant the first orc helmet came in sight. Beside him, Legolas' expression of calm concentration was juxtaposed by Aragorn's fury. His aim and speed weren't up to Legolas' standard, but the orcs were falling in front of him nonetheless.   
  
The orcs were in chaos. Arrows were coming at them from all directions and they were only now getting their first glimpse of the elves. Perhaps a quarter of them had fallen, either dead or injured, before they gathered themselves enough to start returning fire.   
  
Elrohir saw someone fall from his horse across the battle, and then another closer at hand. He kept firing though, reloading as quickly as his hands could manage. The orcs were still falling like leaves in autumn, but they were starting to make the elves pay for it.   
  
Elrohir felt something change, and it took him a moment to notice what it was. Legolas had stopped firing. Elrohir glanced at the Mirkwood prince and saw that his quiver was empty. That brief glance away from the battle was all it took, and he paid a heavy price for that moment's inattention.   
  
An orc-sword slashed at his horse's front legs, which gave out. The horse went down, and even elven balance couldn't stop Elrohir from rolling off, tumbling down the neck. He was on his feet in a swift movement, but he was still shaken and it took half a second for the sword to find a new target. Pain cut through his side, burning into Elrohir's flesh.   
  
He drew his own sword in a movement slightly slower than usual, but was able to parry the next blow. He quickly slew the orc, but the armour proved tough. As the orc toppled, Elrohir's sword was caught and Elrohir was pulled on to his knees by his grip on the hilt. His side was bleeding alarmingly and the burning pain made him worry if the sword had been poisoned.   
  
Certainly his vision started spinning dizzyingly as he tried to wrench his blade free. It refused to yield and so he was left defenceless as another orc decided he was a good target. He dodged the first blow, but the second would have killed him, if Aragorn had not intervened.   
  
The human seemed to come from nowhere, blocking the blow and taking off the orc's head with what appeared to be half a sword. Elrohir's vision grew darker and he could barely make out Aragorn's face in front of him.   
  
"No you don't," Aragorn said, "I did not come back only to have you die now, brother."   
  
"You. . . you called me brother," Elrohir managed.   
  
"I guess I did," Aragorn replied, then his face vanished into the swirling blackness.

Arwen walked through the halls of Rivendell towards the healing wing. She'd watched Aragorn ride away, because of the girl. She was human! She wasn't as beautiful as Arwen! She didn't have elven grace or skill! She didn't have Arwen's wisdom! Why should Aragorn choose her?   
  
Arwen found the room easily. Her father had just left, but Arwen had ducked out of sight as he passed her. He seemed locked in his own thoughts and didn't even notice. No one seemed to notice. Aragorn had. Then he had betrayed her, for this pathetic, human girl, who didn't even dress as a proper woman and clearly was no good as a warrior, or she wouldn't be here.   
  
Arwen stepped inside the room, and saw the girl lying asleep in a clean bed. It was more than she deserved. She looked practically wild and belonged in the wild. Arwen looked down on her, her face almost as pale as she sheets amid a tangled mess of dark hair.   
  
Arwen couldn't recall ever hating anyone. She may have disliked in the past, sometimes mistrusted. But she had never hated anyone the way she hated this girl now. This girl she didn't even know, who had taken away the one person who meant most to her. Arwen had almost died when Aragorn vanished and had lost her child so soon afterwards. It had nearly destroyed her.   
  
Aragorn's recent betrayal had been too much. Arwen had lost the thread of hope she had been clinging to, that one day Estel would return and fulfil his promises to her. Now that would never happen and without it Arwen was tumbling away into despair, her life slipping away with each breath she took.   
  
Because of this girl.   
  
Why should she be allowed to have Aragorn when Arwen couldn't? Why should she live when Arwen wouldn't?   
  
When Arwen had come here she wasn't quite sure what she was planning on doing. She just knew that she had to come. Now she knew why. She had already reached this decision before she even guessed she was considering it. Aragorn would understand what it felt like to lose the one person he cared most about, the one person who made his life worth living. And this girl who had stolen away Arwen's life would suffer the same.   
  
"I love him," Arwen whispered to the sleeping girl, tracing the tousled hair with her fingertips, "I loved him and he betrayed me. Why should he have happiness now that he has destroyed my life?"   
  
She reached beneath the girl's head and yanked the pillow out from under it. The girl woke when her head hit the mattress and she looked up at Arwen with confusion that quickly turned to fear as Arwen pressed the pillow down on her face.

Author's note: Surprised? 


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: This chapter would have been up sooner, but the computer started messing around and deleted the first attempt just as I'd almost finished it. Still, exams are almost over so I should be able to devote more time to my writing.   
  
Elladan had noticed the exchange between Elrohir and Aragorn, but had been too busy trying to keep the few remaining orcs away to hear the words. The hunters finished their task quickly though and in moments the final orcs were dead. It was time to burn the carcasses and check on the wounded. Elladan assessed the situation with a practised glance. It didn't look as though any elves had been killed and the injuries were such that, if they made it back to the healers, they should recover well enough. There wasn't one of them too badly hurt to ride back.   
  
Apart from Elrohir.   
  
He was already unconscious by the time Elladan was there, kneeling by his side, Aragorn doing his best to stop heavy bleeding. Elladan watched as Aragorn efficiently turn a torn tunic into a neat bandage. It seemed as though he could have been watching his father's hands at work. However Aragorn might deny his family, he was still the little boy who had watched his father at healing in an eager desire to learn.   
  
"He'll recover?" Elladan asked, half-enquiring, half-praying.   
  
"The sword was poisoned," Aragorn answered, "but if we return him to Lord Elrond quickly enough he should do. He needs something to counteract the poison as quickly as possible, and I don't have the right herbs here." He spoke swiftly but calmly as he finished tying the temporary bandage over the wound. Elladan quickly checked on Elrohir's horse, but there was no way it would be able to carry any weight but it's own and even that would be a struggle. Elladan was no expert, but he doubted the horse would ever carry a rider again. Instead, Elladan lifted his brother onto his own horse and mounted behind him.   
  
The hunters were setting light to the pile of orc bodies. The smoke would linger unpleasantly and the shed blood would make this area of the wood foul for several years, but leaving the bodies untouched would be far worse. Many of the others were helping the injured mount or mounting themselves. Aragorn had swiftly sheathed the hilt shard of a sword.   
  
"I could lend you another sword," Elladan offered, "while you have that one mended."   
  
Aragorn gave a half smile, "No," he said, "that won't be necessary."   
  
"If the orcs return, you'll need more than half a sword."   
  
"When the time comes," Aragorn said, "the sword will be made new."   
  
"When what time comes?"   
  
Aragorn didn't answer. He just mounted his horse and joined the general movement back the way they had come. Legolas was soon beside them, having been collecting his stray arrows.   
  
"He was this evasive about questions," Legolas told Elladan, "all the time I was travelling with him." Assuming that was the best he was going to get, Elladan urged his horse faster. He quickly left the others behind, knowing that Legolas and Aragorn could protect them if there was any more trouble, and rode hard and fast towards his home and his father's medicines.   
  
Arwen watched the girl squirming, fighting for breath beneath the pillow, drowning in a sea of feathers. The satisfaction bloomed for a moment but withered swiftly. Murder. A single word came into her mind and she knew what she was doing.   
  
The pressure eased slightly and she heard the gasping as the girl managed to suck a few feeble breaths into her lungs. Arwen stared down. The girl was so fragile and weak, already half-dead from fighting orcs. This was no noble battle, no glorious victory. This was petty vengeance and it would not make things right. Perhaps Aragorn no longer loved her, but he would hate her if she did this. She could not live with that.   
  
Tears were flowing down Arwen's cheeks unstoppably. She sobbed, her whole body shaking until the pillow slipped from her grip. She didn't even notice as the girl's face was revealed, looking up in shock from the surface of the bed. For a moment, Arwen had almost given into the worst instincts that lurk inside every living being. Aragorn had destroyed her life and she had almost destroyed her soul.   
  
"Who . . . who are you?" the girl asked, looking now at Arwen with a combination of pity and fear. Arwen couldn't answer, couldn't gather her senses and voice enough to speak. Fortunately, there was another to answer for her.   
  
"Arwen?" her father came swiftly into the room, "Arwen, what are you doing here? What's wrong?"   
  
Arwen flung her arms around him, buried her face in his chest. Her tears were spoiling his fine robes, but she doubted he cared about that. She clung to him, feeling like an infant lost in a world to big for her, filled with monsters everywhere. Even inside herself.   
  
"He loved me," she cried, words almost unintelligible, "he loved me."   
  
"Come, child," her father guided her from the room. She had to lean on him for support, unable to hold herself upright without him. Her legs were trembling and uncertain, partly due to the shock of what she had almost done partly because of a weakness that was steadily growing within her, spreading outwards from her heart. Fortunately, she did not have to walk far. Her father led her to an empty bedroom in the healing wing, only a few doors down from the girl. She sat gratefully on the bed while her father sat beside her, an arm remaining about her shoulders. Her tears had stopped now, simply because there were none left inside her to cry. They had done nothing to drown her raging grief.   
  
"What happened?" he asked gently. Arwen considered not answering, but she would have to face it eventually. She needed to admit, to him and to herself, what it was she had almost done. What she had almost become.   
  
"I almost killed her," Arwen admitted in a barely audible whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on some insignificant mark on the wall. She just couldn't bear the thought of turning and seeing hate in her father's eyes. For what else could there be? He was a healer, sworn to protect and defend life. The girl she had almost murdered was his patient, one who was depending on him. Aragorn had already cast her aside, and now her father would too. The aching emptiness inside Arwen was growing.   
  
"Why?" her father asked. Arwen turned to look at him then, hearing nothing but confusion and pity in his voice. The same emotions were glowing in his eyes along with another: love.   
  
"Estel loved me," Arwen confessed, "He abandoned me, for her."   
  
"You would have killed a young girl over your feelings for Estel?" There was the grief Arwen had expected to hear, mixed with a tinge of fear.   
  
"I couldn't," Arwen answered, "I wanted to but I couldn't."   
  
"Why did you want to?" His question was gentle and it reached inside her and tore out the truth. She confessed to him her love of Estel, a love she had kept hidden for ten years, how his going had almost destroyed her, how his abandoning of her now was finishing the task, her jealousy and anger towards the girl. Her father listened in silence, letting the words spill out without hindrance. All the while, his arm held her close to him. At last she could say no more and a silence fell over the room. When he spoke, it was in a strained tone, holding a deep pain.   
  
"I never knew your feelings for him were so great," he said.   
  
"I love him," she said, "I love him with all my heart and soul. And he no longer loves me."   
  
"He does love you," her father said with complete certainty, "you need not doubt it. That girl is his student and his friend, no more. Be assured that his heart belongs to you and no other."   
  
"Then why . . . why deny it?" Arwen stammered.   
  
"Because he fears for you. He fears that if you surrender your heart to him, it will cost you your life." A trickle of understanding began to flow into Arwen's mind, filtering through the haze and confusion of emotions.   
  
"You knew," she said, "you knew he loved me." It wasn't a question.   
  
"I didn't know how much," her father said, "and I didn't know how deeply you returned the feelings. I thought it nothing more than an infatuation that would swiftly pass."   
  
"You sent him away." A pain of betrayal cut into Arwen's heart, as painful as Estel's had been and in some ways worse. Her father had been the one she had turned to for support all her life. Now it seemed he was responsible for her worst sufferings. He never got the chance to answer, but Arwen didn't need to hear a reply to know that what she had said was true.   
  
"Ada! Ada!" A frantic voice called, one which both Arwen and her father recognised instantly. Even Arwen managed to forget her troubles momentarily at the fear in that voice.   
  
Her father was on his feet and in the corridor before Elladan had finished shouting. Quickly, he urged his son in and had him lay down his burden on the bed. Arwen gave a small gasp, half in shock, half in fear. Elrohir lay, deathly pale, blood seeping through a rough bandage.   
  
"Elladan," their father instructed, "go and fetch my things." Elladan ran, his gaze clinging to his brother even as he left the room. Arwen stood in the corner, temporarily forgotten, as her brother teetered on the edge of death. She had thought herself incapable of more tears, but they began to flow again anyway.   
  
Elrohir couldn't die. He couldn't. She'd lost Estel and their child and barely survived that. Now she had learned that her father had been the one to destroy her hopes. If Elrohir died so soon, there was no way she could survive the compound grief. 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Sorry for the delay: a two week holiday in California doesn't make it easy to update. Hopefully you won't have to wait nearly so long for the next chapter.   
  
As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Please keep your comments coming. Additionally, is anyone interested in doing a lot of reading? I'm getting somewhere near the end of my novel and would welcome detailed feedback. If you'd like to, give me your email address and I'll send you the first chapter. You only have to do as much as you feel like and if you decide you're too busy or you just don't like the story, that's fine, but any help you can give would be appreciated.   
  
Anyway, on with the story.   
  
Aragorn dismounted almost before his horse had stopped. Trusting the grooms to tend the animal, he raced inside the house and up the stairs to the healing wing. Along the route, elves leapt out of his way rather than be mown down. Legolas was behind him a few paces, but his need to reach Elrohir was not so desperate.   
  
Aragorn only slowed his pace when he reached the open door and saw Lord Elrond beyond it, spreading a paste of herbs onto the wound. The room's fire was burning and above it a steaming pot was spreading a wholesome scent, covering the stench of blood and death. Elladan was beside the bed, his clothes still covered by the wreck of battle and, in a shadowed corner, Arwen was watching the proceedings with a look of fear and dismay on her face.   
  
Their eyes met briefly, sharing a look of fear for their brother and grief for all that had happened. The anger was still there, but more important things had overwhelmed it. Tears were drying on her cheeks as she watched her life fall apart around her. Aragorn gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Too much had happened to her in such a short time.   
  
Just then Elrohir cried out and began to thrash, struggling somewhere between the conscious world and the death that lay so close to him. His shouts were wordless, senseless, but they were full of pain. The spectators all moved closer to the bed, as though their presence could help him somehow.   
  
Elladan grabbed his twin's arms to hold him on the bed while Elrond worked. Elrohir looked so fragile, straining against identical hands as a war for survival raged inside him.   
  
"Bring me the pot!" Elrond ordered, not even looking to see if he was obeyed. Aragorn seized a cloth and used it to pull the pot off the fire, not caring about the burning heat that was coming through the material onto his hands. He set the pot on the table beside Elrond, watching as the healer dipped a cloth in it to spread over the wound.   
  
"A cup!" Aragorn filled the cup and tipped up Elrohir's head to make him drink, trying not to let the liquid slop too much as Elrohir thrashed. He understood what was happening. The poison had spread too far from the wound and now the antidote needed to be inside him as much as possible.   
  
Aragorn stood back again after making sure Elrohir had drunk the greater portion of two cups. The pale forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. The thrashing had stilled somewhat, but whether that meant he was winning or loosing this deadly battle, Aragorn couldn't tell.   
  
It might have been hours they stood there together, it might have been days. They followed any orders they were given instantly, never taking their eyes off the figure on the bed in case it was the last sight they would get. Sometime during the struggle, Aragorn's fingers had found Arwen's and intertwined. He didn't even realise until Elrohir stilled on the bed, his breathing stilling into slumber, and Elrond sat back, relief shining from his face.   
  
"If he survives the rest of the night," Elrond stated, "he will live. I will stay and watch over him. You should go and rest."   
  
"Take care of him, Father," Elladan said softly. It was the first time any of them had spoken since this began.   
  
"You need to take care of him," Arwen said, "you have already lost two of your children." Two? The unspoken question rested on everyone's lips. "When Elrohir recovers," Arwen went on, "I will be leaving. Don't expect to see me again."   
  
She left. Aragorn was the first to recover from the shock, since he at least knew some of what was going on. He hurried after her. If she knew what Elrond had done, then undoubtedly she knew that Aragorn still loved her. There was no sense in lying to her any more, nothing to be gained.   
  
"Arwen," he called out to her. She had stopped, leaning against the wall to hold herself up. He couldn't bear the sight of the pain on her face and the knowledge that he had some part in causing it.   
  
"He had no right to judge us," she said.   
  
"I know," Aragorn pulled her into his arms, holding her close, "but none of us can change what happened. I wasted ten years hating him."   
  
"He told me he didn't know where you went, didn't know why you went," she sobbed,   
  
"He lied to me."   
  
"He was afraid of loosing you," Aragorn told her, "He knew that if you gave yourself to me then you would die. How can I hate him for wanting you to live?" He brushed away the tears from her face with a gentle touch, letting his presence be a comfort to her.   
  
"Even when then grief of losing you almost killed me?"   
  
"We have each other again now, we have a lifetime to make up for the time we have lost."   
  
"But that can't bring back what was taken from us. Our child died, Aragorn, died because my body was so weak I could barely survive myself. Our child died because I thought I had lost you. Our child died because Father sent you away."   
  
Aragorn's breath froze for a moment. Elrond hadn't foreseen the cause of the child's death, only its occurrence. He had never considered that he might be the one to blame. He was the murderer Aragorn had thought him, but he had been such unknowing. Unwittingly, he had stolen an innocent life along with his daughter's hopes of happiness.   
  
Legolas stood with Elladan at the doorway of Elrohir's room, watching as Arwen and Aragorn spoke a short distance away. They couldn't hear the words, but they could see the tender way they held each other. Their feelings were obvious in the gentle touch of Aragorn's fingers across Arwen's cheeks.   
  
"What did she mean, Father?" Elladan asked as Aragorn led Arwen away. But Lord Elrond had not moved. He stayed sitting beside Elrohir's bed, staring into nothingness. He didn't seem aware that the others were even there.   
  
"Aragorn told me," Legolas said, "that he lost the one he loved because of someone he thought he could trust. Someone he couldn't name because of the further destruction that it would cause." He spoke quietly, with no accusation in his tone, but Elladan understood nonetheless.   
  
"You sent Estel away?" he asked his father, "You sent him away for loving Arwen?"   
  
"She would have chosen mortality," Elrond said, his voice distant and sad, "she would have died for him. I thought only to save her life."   
  
"Instead you gave her a half-life," Elladan told him, "filled with grief where she should have known love. She has never once smiled since Estel left, never once touched happiness. Surely living with such sadness, such betrayal, is worse than death."   
  
"You would wish your sister dead," Elrond demanded, "when your twin lies so close to that fate?"   
  
"I would wish her happy. I would wish her able to make her own choices in what would make her so." He looked at Elrohir, pale and weak on the sheets. "You'd best see that he lives," he said, "soon he will be the only one willing to call you 'father'."   
  
Elladan stormed out, but Legolas stood a little while longer. Elrond wept beside the bed of his remaining child, a figure of infinite sadness. Legolas found, standing on the outside of the situation, that he could understand each of them. Elrond had thought to protect his child and the others saw only the consequences and not the motive behind them.   
  
"Do you hate me also?" Elrond asked.   
  
"I pity you," Legolas replied, finding that he meant it. "Perhaps when he has had a chance to calm, Elladan will do the same."   
  
"He hates me. They all hate me."   
  
"Let them think for a while. Anger makes everyone say things that they don't mean at times. I'm sure that Elladan will remember his love for you once he has had time to understand your purpose."   
  
"All I wanted was to protect her," Elrond said, "and instead I have destroyed my family." He reached out to take Elrohir's hand, holding it close to him. Perhaps he feared that he would lose this child too, either to death or to hate.   
  
Legolas watched for a moment then left the room, hoping to find Elladan and make sure that he had a chance to think before acting rashly. Legolas felt as though he was in the middle of a whirlwind, trying to hold it still with his bare hands, as all around him destruction raged and those he cared about had the very things they held certain torn from them in the blast. 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I'm sorry it's taken so long to update this story, but there are two reasons. One, I've been working so that I can afford to eat at university. Two, I've just finished writing my novel and that's been taking up most of my writing time recently.  
  
Anyway: onwards to the final chapter.  
  
Legolas found Aragorn and Arwen together. Arwen was frantically shoving clothes into bags, Aragorn just watching, neither helping nor hindering. Both of them had been crying and, even as Legolas watched, Arwen stopped her activity to sob, breaking down violently.  
  
Aragorn put his arms round her, holding her close as she cried into him.  
  
"Your father loves you, Arwen," Legolas said, "and you, Aragorn. He grieves as much as you do for what happened. But nothing can change that. Running away can't bring you back what was lost."  
  
"I can't stay," Arwen sobbed, "I can't stay, knowing what I know."  
  
"It's too dangerous out there for you, Arwen," Aragorn said. "I don't want to lose you so soon after I have found you again. Please stay, for a while at least. When my life is no longer so perilous, I can come back for you."  
  
"How can I stay with someone I can't trust?"  
  
"Lord Elrond wanted to protect you," Aragorn said, "He loves you."  
  
"Your father didn't know," Legolas added, "He didn't know what his actions would cost you. Go to him. Speak to him. I believe he will give you what he couldn't give before, his blessing and his support."  
  
"I can't," she said. There was no hatred in her, not even much anger. There was just grief and that would fade in time. The love she had held for her father was still there, waiting to be recovered. She could come to be happy here again.  
  
"I will speak to him," Aragorn said. "Legolas, will you stay with Arwen." Legolas nodded, taking a seat on the bed beside her. She leaned into him, though she clung to Aragorn's hand with her own for several moments longer.  
  
Aragorn looked briefly in on Eltha before going to his father. She was looking better, though confused. He promised her that he would explain soon, when hopefully there would be better things to tell.  
  
Lord Elrond was sitting beside Elrohir's bed, his eyes filled with tears. Such a pitiful sight, Aragorn had no choice but to forgive him. Aragorn shared the same feelings, the fear that Arwen would lose her life because of her love. Aragorn found he couldn't even hate the killer of his child.  
  
"I understand why you did it," Aragorn said.  
  
"I have lost her just as surely," Lord Elrond replied.  
  
"She's angry," Aragorn told him, "but you haven't lost her yet. Please, give us your blessing. In time she will remember that she loves you."  
  
"I would not have her be the bride of any man less than the king of both Gondor and Arnor," Lord Elrond said, "You have a long journey ahead of you, Aragorn, beset with perils. If in the end you come to your heritage, I shall give you my blessing."  
  
"And if I do not?"  
  
"Then the world will be swallowed in darkness, and you and Arwen will not be the only ones to whom happiness is denied. A great burden rests on you. Let Arwen be the hope you can cling to during your struggles."  
  
"I would not have her come with me into the wild," Aragorn told him, "I face too many dangers every day and I wouldn't be happy knowing that each day she might be snatched away from me. I will speak to her, see if I can persuade her to remain here where she is safe." His hand rested on the hilt of the broken sword by his side.  
  
"The Sword that is Broken will be remade in my lifetime?" It was only half a question and he expected the nod that came. "Then if I fail to claim my heritage, Arwen would not be able to marry me whether you agreed or not." Aragorn understood his doom: either death or leadership, greatest or the darkness.  
  
He turned to return to Arwen, to tell her what had been discussed.  
  
"Aragorn, you have a strength and wisdom in you that Arathorn would have been proud of. As I am."  
  
"Thank you," Aragorn said, "father."  
  
THE END 


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